


Work It

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas explore the many definitions of ‘work’. Let’s just say, their Labor Day isn’t exactly spent as a day off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work It

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked for Lyric, volunteer work, and sex. I delivered. Enjoy your holiday, folks.  
>  

Dean’s trying not to be annoyed at the fact that he’s awake at 8am on a Monday, on the one day when he _doesn’t have to go to work._ He’s clutching a cup of black coffee – Starbucks, courtesy of Cas, because he’s the reason they’re up this goddamn early – and looking around blearily. Dean’s hair is an unstyled mess and he’s hoping that Cas made sure his outfit was at least somewhat decent, because he sure as hell didn’t himself. He’s vaguely aware of a cream cheese bagel on the table before him and that it’s supposed to be his breakfast.

 

Cas, on the other hand, is bright eyed and quite alert; Dean’s at a loss. All he cares about is the fact that it’s Labor Day and they are _not at home_ , not relaxing, enjoying the paid time off. Typically their days off are unpaid and spent tracking down and ganking all sorts of evil sons of bitches. This was the one day they were supposed to take it easy, relax, and…

 

… and _not_ go volunteer at a soup kitchen.

 

“Finish your breakfast, Dean. I need your help,” Castiel says from across the room, where he’s wiping down tables. They’re in a church basement, helping set up before the doors are opened to the homeless. The place is empty, for now. The only people here are other volunteers like themselves, who are setting up chairs, sweeping or otherwise preparing for the oncoming rush. When Dean looks up to look over at Cas, he realizes he’s the only one sitting down. He heaves a sigh.

 

“I’m not hungry,” he calls back, wrapping up his food. He glances around for a trash can – and it must be obvious what he’s looking for, because he catches sight of another volunteer, who’s glaring at him. And, yeah, okay – wasting food at a soup kitchen, not the best idea. He smiles and waves awkwardly before tucking the thing into his blessedly oversized jeans pockets and walking over to Cas. When he reaches him, Dean leans forward and rests his forehead against Cas’ back.

 

“I hate you,” he mumbles groggily into the fabric of Cas’ thin and characteristically hideous sweater. The temperature’s been low, lately, promising an early autumn. The past couple of days have been cool enough for Cas to break out the ugly cardigans, and Cas has been ecstatic. The basement hall they’re in has the air conditioner on full blast, but Cas is comfortable and cozy in one of his sweaters from early autumn of last year.

 

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas says in a humored tone.

 

“No. It’s eight in the goddamn morning. We should be in bed. Or _I_ should be in bed, and you should be making me breakfast – or we should be _skipping_ breakfast and having really hot morning s – ” Cas covers his mouth to cut him off.

 

“Dean. We’re in a church,” he says with a slightly bemused glare before lifting his hand from Dean’s mouth.

 

“Augh. Exactly my point.”

 

Cas moves away and Dean staggers forward a bit. He scowls at Cas as the man hands him a rag and a bottle of table cleaner. Cas chances a quick peck to Dean’s cheek before heading off a couple tables away to continue cleaning. Dean groans irritably before he gets to work spraying a table and scrubbing it down a little more aggressively than necessary. The sharp, almost-too-clean smell Dean usually attributes to newly cleaned gas station bathrooms fills his nose and he feels a little sick.

 

When everything else is set up, Dean’s assigned the task of cutting bread to go with the soup that will be passed out. It’s dull work because Cas is off doing other things and isn’t around for Dean to bump elbows with. Or smirk at. Or flirt with. The group who organizes the kitchen had been ecstatic to find out that Cas works as a cook (albeit at a local diner), and the job of preparing the soup had fallen almost exclusively to him. Sure, the vegetable dicing and all the trivialities are up to other volunteers, but Cas is pretty much the master chef. Dean would be proud if that didn’t mean less time for him with his boyfriend.

 

When the soup’s done, the big pots of it are brought to a line of rectangular serving tables at the front of the hall, along with the baskets of bread. Dean, however, doesn’t stick around to help in the process of transporting everything, and doesn’t let Cas do so either. Instead, he grabs Cas the moment the cooking’s done and tugs him away, leading him through the door to the stairs and up to the chapel.

 

“We’re not done helping, Dean,” Cas protests weakly on the way up, but Dean ignores him. Once they’re safely apart from everyone else, closed away in the dimly lit chapel, Dean draws his angel close by the loops of his belt. Cas leans forward, rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck; Dean thinks he can _feel_ Cas smiling. Dean slips his arms around Cas’ waist and they’re quiet a moment. The chapel is silent but for the gentle sound of their breathing.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s neck. Dean chuckles and moves back, holding Cas at arm’s length and giving him a grin and a raised eyebrow.

 

“Why are you thanking me, man? You’ve got a habit with the ‘thank you’s at random times, you know that?”

 

Cas’ returning look is fond.

 

“For coming with me. This was very important to me. It is good to have you here as well.”

 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek because the quiet, earnest honesty under Cas’ words surprises him. Sometimes he gets these tiny glimpses into just how much Cas cares, how much Cas likes having him _around,_ and it’s overwhelming. Dean’s new to the whole ‘self-worth’ thing, and the idea that Cas could be so teeming with happiness over Dean’s mere presence is still mind-boggling.

 

“Hey, no problem, Sunshine. That’s what we’re all about, right? Saving people?”

 

Cas tilts his head to the side with a curious look on his face. “Even if we’re not ‘hunting things’?”

 

It’s Dean’s turn to look fond.

 

“Yeah, well, superheroes don’t get off days, even when they’re not in uniform. C’mon, we’ve got some hobos to feed,” he replies, heading towards the door.

 

“Dean! That term is unacceptable!”

 

Dean just snickers and keeps walking, beckoning Cas to follow.

 

*

 

Two hours have passed since the doors opened to the public, and Dean is feeling substantially less fluffy about the whole affair, good intentions be damned. Cas has peeled off his sweater in favor of the godawful bright, neon blue shirts that say VOLUNTEER in tall black letters that the whole staff is wearing. Dean’s not entirely sure how Cas coerced him to wear one as well, but somehow he is, too.

 

His feet ache – they’ve all been standing and ladling out soup almost this entire time because, apparently, it’s not a job that can be done with a chair. Personally, Dean thinks he should be allowed an _arm chair_ for this stunningly boring chore, but no one else seems to agree. On top of everything, Cas has been fluttering about, making sure spills are taken care of, trash cans are emptied regularly, the food supply is ample, etc., etc. The woman in charge of everything had to leave abruptly for one cause or another – Dean wasn’t paying attention – so Cas is pretty much heading the show here.

 

It’s annoying.

 

By the time it’s 11am, Dean’s ready to collapse on the floor where he stands. Just as he’s weighing the pros and cons of letting his legs give out under him, however, he hears a familiar voice. An excited, high-pitched voice.

 

“Mommy! It’s _Dean!_ Is his husband here? Are they volunteering, too?”

 

Dean comes back from whatever foreign planet his brain’s been vacationing on and focuses on the present situation. The owner of the voice is a child – Lyric, the little girl he and Cas seem to be running into regularly, lately. She’s here with her mother, and both of them are wearing the same bright blue shirts as all the other volunteers.

 

He gives her a bright grin, and she giggles.

 

“Hiya, Lyric,” he says, “here to help out?”

 

Lyric pouts immediately, as though she was waiting for the question to be asked and had the expression saved to be used at the ready. “ _No._ Mommy says I have to stay out of the way.” To demonstrate the point, she holds up a coloring book she’s holding. “I have to sit in the _corner_ and _draw._ For hours! Hours and hours and hours,” she adds, punctuating the sentence with vigorous nods.

 

“That so?” Dean asks, playfully. Lyric’s mom looks sheepish.

 

“My babysitter bailed at the last minute,” she says, almost like she’s apologizing, “but I already committed to coming and helping out. She’ll be fine for a little while, she’s just being whiny.”

 

“No I’m not!” Lyric cries indignantly. Then, after a pause, “No I won’t! Not fine!”

 

Cas walks over to Dean, then, and he’s holding his sweater and has already grabbed Dean’s jacket for him. Their shift appears to be over. And, of course, that’s when Dean’s heart decides to be a bitch and speak for him.

 

“We’ll watch her,” he blurts out. Cas raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just gives Lyric one of his hesitant smiles and an awkward wave. The guy may be a hell of a lot happier than he was a year ago, but he’s still bad at smiling. What he lacks in emoting, though, Lyric easily makes up.

 

“Mommy! Dean and Cassy – Casst – Dean and his husband are gonna babysit me! Say yes, _please._ ” The kid even falls to her knees in all out theatre drama style, grabbing her mother’s leg. Her mother heaves a big sigh and gives Dean and Cas a look like they’ve just delivered her a lifeboat, directly post-Titanic.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks them hesitantly. It seems to be enough of an answer for Lyric, who immediately hops up and starts spinning around excitedly. Dean is suddenly aware of just what he signed up for. Still, the girl is cute in her bobbing pigtails and Dean is definitely, 100% sure. One silent glance exchanged with Cas confirms that his partner is in agreement, and Dean nods.

 

“Yeah, we got it.”

 

“It’ll only be for two or three hours,” the woman adds quickly. She lowers her voice, then. “And by 12:30 she’ll be out like a light. Thank God, she still naps like clockwork. No idea what I’ll do when she grows out of that.”

 

“Thank God,” Dean echoes, watching Lyric spin around with seemingly endless energy. They exchange phone numbers and Cas gives Lyric’s mother their address before heading off, Lyric in tow. All through the parking lot, she’s chattering quietly to herself about Dean and Cas getting married – despite them apparently already being _husbands_ in her eyes. Dean and Cas exchange a weighted glance and a shared sigh over the top of the car before all three of them pile in.

 

*

For all intents and purposes, Dean and Castiel’s flat is uninteresting. Its most exciting features are a disproportionate amount of candles and scattered picture frames throughout the place. Based on Lyric’s reaction, though, you’d think the place is Disneyland. She’s chattering excitedly the moment she walks through the door.

 

Dean, on the other hand, dives face first into the couch immediately, groaning in appreciation at the sweet, simple pleasure of no longer having to be on his feet. This leaves Cas as the sole responder to Lyric’s enthusiastic musings.

 

“Is this where you _sleep?”_ Dean can hear her talking to Cas from under the couch pillows, “Do you sleep _together?_ Is this your kitchen? Do you cook here, too, or just the diner? You have a bunny! Bunny! Can I hold her? Is she a girl? What’s her name?”

 

She barely takes a breath between questions, so Dean’s poor angel doesn’t exactly have time to respond to any of them. Dean figures this might be for the best, because Cas isn’t the best with talking. Rather than verbally respond to Lyric’s inquiries about Sunshine, Cas walks across the room to her cage and takes her out.

 

“Sunshine is easily frightened,” he tells her quietly. Lyric’s chattering instantly fades away. Dean sits up a bit, leaning on his elbows, and finds the two of them sitting on the bed. Cas has Sunshine cradled in his arms, and Lyric is gently petting her, eyes wide. The scene is unexpectedly endearing. Dean feels something catch in his throat.

 

Rather than think too deeply on it, he clears his throat.

 

“You hungry?” he asks Lyric, and she nods vigorously, still silent in fear of startling the rabbit.

 

“Shall I…?” Cas asks Dean. He’s typically the one who cooks, but Dean shakes his head.

 

“I haven’t made lunch for a kid since Sammy was little. I’m all over this.”

 

Cas gives Dean an odd, unreadable look before nodding and returning his attention to Lyric, who is now leaning against him and has her head pressed against his arm. She’s making little noises at the rabbit and wrinkling her nose like rabbits do. Dean heads for the kitchen, but not before giving Cas another long look, trying to find a name for the weird feeling in his chest.

 

Dean’s prowess with mac and cheese ought to be world renowned; it’s an art form, really, and Dean’s a regular Van Gogh in the trade. There are also chicken nuggets in the freezer for the rare days when Cas’ shift doesn’t line up with Dean’s and Dean is expected to feed himself. Chicken nuggets happen to be the absolute _best_ compliment to mac and cheese, and Dean’s proud that his lunch for Lyric is as awesome as humanly possible. Dean makes enough for the three of them and, despite Cas’ brief remark on the meal’s lack of nutritional value (especially for a little girl), he has some, too.

 

After lunch, Lyric sleepily requests a book, rather than the Disney movie Dean offers. Dean and Cas exchange panicked looks before Dean remembers that Cas has a copy of Alice in Wonderland from a couple months ago. Thankfully, she seems content to listen to a book that relies more heavily on conversations than pictures.

 

The three of them pile onto the couch with Lyric between them and Sunshine on Lyric’s lap. Dean reads, because Cas is monotone and sucks at storytelling. Dean does all the voices and makes Lyric giggle.

 

She falls asleep between them, mouth slightly parted with her head against Dean. Dean quietly closes the book when he notices. Both men stand and Cas gently adjusts Lyric so that she’s laying on the couch. Sunshine seems content to stay beside her. Both Dean and Cas stand and watch her sleep a moment, totally transfixed. Finally, Dean tilts his head in the kitchen’s direction, and they head towards it in unison.

 

Cas makes tea for the two of them and they sit at the table, exchanging a quiet look. Dean smiles.

 

“Sorry I gave you even more work on Labor Day,” he whispers. “I probably should have asked first.”

 

“It wasn’t work,” Cas replies seriously, not catching the underlying humor in Dean’s tone. “I enjoy her company.”

 

“I do, too,” Dean agrees, scarcely audible. He glances in Lyric’s direction. I could get used to having her around.”

 

There are deep thoughts clawing at Dean’s mind and he’s having trouble pushing them down. Blessedly, that’s when a knock comes from the front door. Dean’s up immediately, partly to cut off the knocking before it wakes Lyric, and partly to escape the tight feeling in his chest.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, ushering Lyric’s mother in with a finger to his lips. She catches sight of Lyric asleep on the couch and she smiles.

 

“You know, she really likes you two,” she whispers fondly, directing her smile at Dean. “She’s always asking to go to the diner so she can see you. And she hates that Cas works in the kitchen where she can’t see him.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Dean says with a chuckle. “She’s a sweet kid. We had fun. If you ever need a babysitter again…”

“I’ll definitely call you,” she agrees. The idea of seeing this energetic girl on a regular basis makes Dean grin, compelled by whatever feeling is surging in his heart.

 

“I’ll carry her to your car,” he offers, “so she doesn’t wake up.”

 

And so he does, reveling in the strange sensation of having a small child in his arms. He hasn’t experienced this feeling since Sam was little enough to carry, and it’s… weird. Again, he searches for the word that describes it, and he can find none.

 

  
*

 

When Dean comes back in, he beelines for the bed, toeing off his shoes on the way and tugging off his jeans. He’s _exhausted_. He’s not complaining, of course, but the fact of the matter is that he’s spent his Labor Day doing more work than he usually does at the diner. Babysitting Lyric was definitely an awesome experience, and Dean can (begrudgingly) admit that even volunteering was rewarding… but now is time for some very hard-earned sleep. He doesn’t even bother pulling the covers over himself; he’s _that_ tired.

 

Sleep is coming to him fast, and he’s just about to pass out when he feels the bed dip and Cas moving in next to him, close. Dean doesn’t even bother opening his eyes because he’s content to fall asleep pressed beside Cas.

 

Cas, however, has _other_ plans.

 

All of a sudden, Dean can feel Cas’ mouth at his ear, breath warm and close. He slips an arm around Dean’s waist and Dean goes still all over.

 

“I know it is Labor Day, Dean,” Cas whispers, voice low and rough, “but would you oblige me in a little _more_ work?” To demonstrate Cas’ definition of ‘work’, lest the implication wasn’t obvious enough, he gently nips at Dean’s ear. Dean gasps and his eyes snap open.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Cas,” he chokes, rolling to his side so he can look at Cas. Cas’ eyes are already dark, laced with enough lust to make Dean shiver. Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s waist and all thoughts of actual rest instantly flee Dean’s mind. He slips a hand into Cas’ hair and gives a gentle tug and Cas’ reaction – a quiet, swallowed whimper – is more than satisfying. Cas slips a leg between Dean’s thighs and their lips meet.

 

Kissing Cas is different than kissing anyone else Dean has ever kissed in his entire history of hookups (which, for the record, is an almost embarrassingly high number). Cas’ formerly unpracticed mouth has developed a sort of finesse to it; the would-be angel is now an experienced kisser. But it’s more than _talent_. Dean thinks it might have to do with the fact that Cas’ first kiss was with him, just as every kiss since. Everything Cas knows was imparted to him by Dean. So it’s not just talent – it’s an intimate, intense knowledge of how Dean works. It’s close to someone like Dean’s never been, and it’s almost scary. No – screw _almost_. It’s terrifying.

 

In a good way.

 

Their kisses are broken up by short sounds every now and then, each one upping the rate of Dean’s pulse. The subtle arch of Cas’ hips against his own send sparks of electricity coursing through his system. It’s a slow thing, all buildup and anticipation, and every moment Dean can feel himself slowly coming undone. Just ravaging Cas’ mouth, fists curled in the other man’s hair and bodies pressed close, is enough to drive Dean crazy. Cas’ hands slip under his shirt and he _whimpers_.

 

“So fuckin’ hot, baby,” Dean babbles stupidly; his mind is sort of short circuiting. Their chests are tight against one another and Cas’ hands are tracing the edges of Dean’s shirt, fingers skirting just barely over his skin.

 

Cas bites Dean’s lip sharply, just shy of being painful.

 

 _“Not a baby, Dean,”_ he hisses, and thrusts upward with his hips purposefully, earning a sharp gasp from his partner.

  
“Alright, alright,” Dean says breathlessly, “still fuckin’ hot.”

 

The buildup is at once ecstasy and agony. It’s _so good_ , just lazily tongue-fucking each other’s mouths and letting their bodies tremble on autopilot. But it’s also _overwhelming_. Every nerve-ending on Dean’s skin is alight with a fire that begs for _more_ , begs to be claimed and destroyed and loved from the inside out.

  
Cas’ kisses trail from Dean’s mouth, to his jawline, to his neck. He nips and sucks just how Dean likes it, and Dean utters a quiet, shaky moan in response.

 

“Cas,” he rasps, tugging hard at Cas’ hair. Cas doesn’t reply, just sucks a hickey into the skin where Dean’s neck and shoulder meet.

 

 _“Cas,”_ Dean repeats urgently, pulling Cas back by his hair so that he can look in Cas’ eyes.

 

“Yes?” Cas asks in a tone that is nearly annoyed, eyes flickering back to Dean’s neck as though he’s eager to go back to unfinished work.

 

“Fuck me,” Dean orders sharply, hooking a leg around Cas’ waist to accentuate the point. Dean’s not entirely sure if the noise Cas makes is human; he muses briefly that some of the angel in his boyfriend might have stuck around just to produce awesome noises in bed.

 

“As you wish,” Cas responds in a strangled voice. He tugs at Dean’s shirt almost violently, pulling it over his head and discarding the awful neon blue thing at last. Dean quickly returns the favor and there’s a sweet moment of skin-to-skin where both sets of hands roam greedily over the other’s body. It’s bliss.

 

Boxers are discarded quickly after and then there’s nothing between them. Dean sort of wishes it was always like this, that he’d never have to break from the intense bliss of being full flesh against his lover. Cas rolls him over and straddles his thighs, leaning forward to kiss the nape of his neck. Dean bristles all over and gasps into the sheets, thrusting involuntarily down into the bed.

 

Cas kisses all over Dean’s back meticulously, giving each inch of it attention, biting and sucking when he sees fit. Dean’s writhing by the end of it, pleading with Cas, simultaneously pushing down into the sheets and arching his back. Dean can feel Cas smiling against his spine and he thinks he might be losing his mind.

 

“Cas,” he growls when the teasing has reached the level of _too much,_ “Fuck me. Fuck me _now,_ Christ, I’m not even kidding right now – oh my _God.”_

Cas chuckles, dark and dirty, before Dean feels him leaning to the side of the bed to forage around for lube. Dean groans in a mixture of satisfaction and anxious anticipation. Cas’ abrupt slick fingers inside him make Dean fist at the sheets and his toes curl. He’s not sure what he says, but he’s pretty sure it’s probably incoherent.

 

“I need you on all fours, Dean,” Cas instructs, tugging at Dean’s waist. Dean complies immediately, chest heaving and breath coming short and shallow. It’s a new position that they’ve never done before, and the feeling of Cas on his knees behind him, hands gripping firmly to his waist, makes his pulse jump.

 

The only forewarning before Cas pushes in is the feeling of his nails digging in where they’re gripping Dean. Like their kissing, his thrusts are _slow,_ measured, hitting deep at Dean’s prostrate _every fucking time_. Dean’s sputtering nonsense and profanities at this point and Cas is repeating his name like a mantra, like it’s killing him in the best possible way. It’s perfect… except –

 

“Fuck, Cas, no – I need to _see you_ ,” Dean gasps, proud of himself at getting a coherent sentence out.

 

“What?” Cas asks in this distracted way, like he’s off on some other planet that’s pure pleasure and his mind can’t process words.

 

“Your eyes – oh _fuck,_ Cas – your eyes, I can’t see you, oh God, fuck – _Cas_.” Speaking clearly is an impossible effort. The position is amazing and the sex is mind-blowing… but it’s not _right_ unless he’s looking into Cas’ eyes. Because half of their chemistry, half of what makes him crazy whenever they have sex is the sheer heat of their eye fucking, the way Cas’ eyes can sear through him like the best kind of knife.

 

“You want to look at me,” Cas says, slowing his movements to a stop. Dean almost regrets the request.

 

“Yes – God yes. Just wanna see those eyes of yours, angel,” Dean says, swiftly seizing this moment of coherent speech. “Wanna look right into your eyes when you fuck me stupid.”

 

Dean wishes he _could_ see the reaction on Cas’ face to that, but of course, all he has is his imagination. That, and the way he can _feel_ Cas go tense all over. He pulls out without a second thought – so instantly it’s almost comical – and lays on his back beside Dean. Dean rolls over, leans up on one elbow and looks at Cas. And _fuck,_ was he ever missing a good view. Cas’ cheeks are flushed and red; his hair is wet with sweat and sticking up at all angles in a phenomenal display of sex hair. His pupils are blown to black orbs with blue trim and every bit of his features looks wildly impatient for _more_.

 

“I want you on top of me,” Cas rasps, voice sounding just as wrecked as he looks. “Ride me, please.”

 

Sometimes Dean wonders if Cas’ bedroom manners are actual pleas or if he’s just that polite, but it always comes out rough and raw and Dean really couldn’t give a fuck either way. Not like he could refuse Cas anything, not when he looks like this – like he wants Dean so bad it might kill him if he can’t, like the idea of not having Dean on top of him in two seconds flat is inconceivable. So Dean doesn’t hesitate, just moves in for a swift, deep kiss before scrambling over Cas’ body and straddling his waist.

 

Switching positions _before_ orgasms is unprecedented, so Dean isn’t ready for the shock of how differentit feels, how hypersensitive his nerve endings already are that they’re practically lightning bolts dancing across his skin. It’s disconcerting to go from rutting into the sheets to sinking onto Cas’ dick and being on top, instead. It’s also pretty phenomenal.

 

Dean rocks with a steady rhythm that has Cas writhing in seconds, clawing at the sheets and gasping Dean’s name.

 

“Eyes open, Sunshine,” Dean orders. He watches as Cas’ eyes snap open and he looks up at Dean. There’s an electric moment when their eyes meet that makes everything feel that much more _real_. Then Dean grins and it catches, because Cas smiles, too.

 

Cas’ hand finds Dean’s dick and Dean moans, pegging Cas with a dark, lust-lidded look that he refuses to break. Dean’s not sure what’s burning more hotly – Cas’ hand, which is slowly, agonizingly stroking him in a pace that’s far too slow to be anything but teasing, or the fire in the blue of his eyes. Dean can’t pinpoint just _when_ Cas acquired this penchant for making him writhe and beg with too-soft touches, but it’s the best kind of awful and he fucking loves it.

 

“Cas, _please_ ,” Dean begs in a wrecked, tortured voice, like he’s pleading for water in a desert or something. Cas’ thumb lightly traces the head of Dean’s dick and he thinks he might actually be dying. The noises he’s making are surely the sounds of a man close to death.

 

Cas finally – finally, _finally_ – has mercy on Dean’s piteous plight and ups his pace, showing off his artless finesse with making Dean fall apart. By this time Dean’s already been riding the edge of an orgasm for what feels like friggin _years_ now. It doesn’t take much to push him that much further, until he’s coming so hard his body shudders in waves.

 

He’s dizzy with the aftermath of his mind-blowing orgasm when Cas comes inside him, making his over-sensitized body burst with another rush of pleasure that is borderline _too much_. Only now do they break their gaze, closing their eyes and composing themselves.   

 

Dean musters up just enough energy to pull off before collapsing in a sweaty, sticky heap on top of Cas. He buries his face in Cas’ neck, breathing in the comfortable, familiar smell of _Cas._ He inhales deeply and he laughs.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks curiously.

 

“I’m going to be walking funny for a week, Cas. Jesus.”

 

Cas chuckles.

 

“That will make it difficult to wait tables.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

 

Cas presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head.

 

“Any time, Dean.”

 

*

 

Dean thinks a shower would probably be a better alternative to wiping themselves clean with one of the discarded blue volunteer shirts, but Cas almost religiously has a cup of tea after sex and he doesn’t seem willing to stop now. Dean doesn’t mind; he could go for a cup of coffee himself. A shower, or maybe a bath with Cas, can wait a little while.

 

They don’t bother redressing in more than boxers before they trudge to the kitchen. Dean is aching, as expected, but it’s a good kind of soreness that makes him smirk despite himself. He catches a look of smug satisfaction on Cas’ face and he feels himself go red, which is pretty goddamn embarrassing.

 

Their bare shoulders brush as Dean sets the coffee machine and Cas puts water in a kettle to boil. They both lean against the counter, waiting for their respective hot beverages to heat, and it hits Dean in a wave how incredibly _domestic_ this moment his – his _life_ is. He’s standing in a kitchen, for one. He never had a kitchen growing up, not since he was four years old, so that in itself is mind-blowing. Let alone the fact that he’s standing here with a man he’s been in a committed relationship for… could it really be eight months? Eight months since their first kiss, and they’re still together.

 

And _happy_.

 

So Dean’s got his kitchen and his boyfriend and actually did _volunteer work,_ like, voluntarily, and babysat a little girl and it’s so friggin domestic that it’s overwhelming. Sometimes he _still_ can’t get over the fact that this is his life, that he gets to have this. Sometimes it’s too much.

 

Cas must pick up the look in Dean’s eyes because he furrows his brows and gives him a measured look.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, head tilted slightly to the side.

 

“You. Us,” Dean responds truthfully, meeting Cas’ eyes.

 

“And what of us?”

 

Dean clears his throat and looks away, choosing instead to look at the coffee pot.

  
“Just that we should make a sex tape sometime, man. I’m pretty sure we’d be the hottest porno ever made.”

 

Cas gives him this face like he doesn’t believe him, but after a moment he just shakes his head fondly and goes about fixing his tea.

 

“We’re not recording any acts of intercourse, Dean.”

 

“It’d be hot,” Dean says conversationally as he pours his coffee. “Then you’d get to see how fucking sexy you look when you’re fucking me –”

 

Cas makes a nearly silent, strangled noise. Which, of course, Dean notices and grins at.

 

“You’re so cavalier when you say these things,” Cas says in a small voice, taking his cup of tea to the table.

 

“I’m just making conversation,” Dean says facetiously as he follows, still smirking.

 

Cas puts his tea on the table, gently lifts Dean’s mug from his hands and places it beside the other. Before Dean knows it, Cas is kissing him again, crowding into his personal space and wrapping an arm around his waist. Dean’s eyes widen because he’s so taken aback, surprised by the sudden ferocity of Cas’ mouth against his. They end up backed against a wall, Dean pinned between it and Cas.

 

“You’re like a teenage boy today, Cas, holy shit,” Dean gasps between kisses.

 

“I seem stuck on the notion that we should work our entire day off,” Cas says simply, parting Dean’s lips with his tongue.

 

Dean gets lost in that same sweet sensation of exploring Cas’ mouth. He slips a leg between Cas’ thighs and pulls him tight, not surprised to find the other man half hard already. It makes him feel a little giddy with pride, that he’s able to make Cas want it that bad so _fast._

 

Dean spins them around so that Cas is the one against the wall, and then he drops to his knees. He can hear Cas moan his name as the angel slumps back against the wall, throwing his head back in excitement at the mere idea of Dean sucking him off. Which Dean is totally, totally about to do.

 

Cas is a friggin _freak_ when it comes to blowjobs, and frankly Dean’s a little envious because he knowshe doesn’t have Cas’ skill. Cas has this awesome thing where he _doesn’t have a gag reflex._ Dean’s not sure if it’s an angel thing or if Jimmy had some sort of awesome birth defect or if it’s a straight up gift from God himself, but Cas literally gets off on Dean fucking his mouth, with the added bonus of never making those boner-killing choking noises. It’s a friggin anomaly. Dean’s not even sure it’s medically possible.

 

Dean, on the other hand, has to hold Cas’ hips in place as he sinks down to keep the other man from involuntarily thrusting into his mouth. He digs his nails into Cas’ sharp hipbones just shy of being painful, eliciting a sharp gasp from Cas. Rather than pull him straight into his mouth right away once he tugs down his boxers, Dean trails kisses up and down Cas’ thighs and along his hipbones. Cas writhes and shudders.

 

“Dean, please –”

 

“Patience, Sunshine,” Dean says with a wink up at Cas.

 

“ _No,_ Dean – Dean, _please,_ please?” His voice sort of breaks a little on the last note and Dean can’t help but comply, despite how hot it is to watch Cas fall apart as he teases him. He nuzzles against Cas dick for a brief moment before swallowing him down.

 

Giving Cas blowjobs is one of the most rewarding things ever, because the noises he makes are absolutely criminal. His moans and whimpers and pleas sound even more gratifying in the acoustics of their small kitchen. No matter how hard his chest heaves and how off-the-deep-end he seems, he always makes sure he’s looking down at Dean. So, again, there’s that eye-fucking element that makes this that much better. Dean’s hard and straining against his boxers.

 

There are few sights as phenomenal as watching Cas come undone.

 

Out of nowhere, Dean hears the word “ _Stop!”_ and he pulls back immediately, looking at Cas in confusion. He licks his lips and, okay, maybe it was a little more dirty a gesture than it needed to be, but he didn’t appreciate being tugged away before finishing the job.

 

“I don’t want to come,” Cas explains, and Dean raises his eyebrows and laughs.

 

“Is this some kind of orgasm denial thing? Didn’t know you were into that.”

 

Cas huffs. “Perhaps some other time. I just don’t want to come because I’d like you to fuck me first.”

 

Well, shit. Dean’s not one to ignore an order like that (though he _does_ tuck away the “perhaps some other time” into the back of his mind for future reference). He’s on his feet in a second and between his own fingers and Cas’, his boxers end up around his ankles. He steps out of them and crowds in between Cas’ legs, pressing their stomachs flush against one another. He leans forward and brings his lips to Cas’ ear.

 

“I’m going to fuck you into this wall,” he says, low and quiet. “Make you sore like I am. Want you to feel me all week.” He says the most ridiculous shit when he has sex with Cas, but it seems to work for Cas – like really, really work – so he always does. Cas is practically putty in his hands, running at a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and Dean’s not even inside him yet.

 

“This is the part where I have to grab lube,” Dean mutters, annoyed at having to break away. Cas looks equally irritated, and Dean sees his eyes dart around the kitchen and rest on the olive oil in the corner of their counter.

 

“We could –” he starts, but Dean shakes his head immediately.

 

“I’m _not_ prepping you with olive oil, dude. One sec.”

 

While Dean laments the loss of friction, he has to go commit the necessary evil of darting into the other room and grabbing lube. He’s back as fast as humanly possible and is back between Cas’ legs. Cas hooks a leg around Dean’s waist, distracting Dean from the process of slicking up his fingers.

 

“Hurry up,” Cas insists. Dean snickers.

  
“That’s not very polite,” he teases. Cas leans forward and bites Dean’s shoulder, hard.

 

“Neither is making me wait.”

 

“Fair enough,” Dean gasps, biting down hard on his lower lip.

 

He can feel Cas’ whole body tense as his fingers slip inside him, one after the other. His mouth is still at Dean’s neck and he’s breathing hotly into it, occasionally sinking his teeth in to smother up the mewling whimpers that keep escaping his throat. Cas wraps his leg even tighter around Dean’s waist.

 

“I’m not fragile,” Cas hisses irritably, followed by a grunt that shouldn’t sound nearly as sexy as it does, “you can add more fingers. Or, preferably, you can fuck me.” His forehead is sweaty against Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Easy, Cas,” Dean says, struggling not to choke on the words, “need to make sure you’re –”

 

 _“I am ready, Dean,”_ Cas cuts him off, pulling Dean closer with his leg. Dean gasps at the intensity of the friction and he figures his angel knows best. 

 

Dean works out every day for two reasons. One, he’s still a kickass monster hunter, even if they do it less often now that they work at the diner. And two – debatably more importantly – for days like this, so he can hoist Cas up and push him against the wall so the other man can wrap both legs around Dean’s waist. Dean adjusts them so that Cas is at the perfect angle and he pushes in.

 

Cas’ head falls back against the wall and he moans Dean’s name – it’s seriously one of the most rewarding sounds Dean’s ever heard. Dean gets a steady rhythm going, pushing in and out and reveling in how he can feel Cas’ legs spasm around him. At some point he hears Cas choke out a scarcely audible plea of “ _faster, Dean, harder!”_ like some sort of bad porno, and it’d be cheesy if it wasn’t obvious how raw and _honest_ it is. So Dean ups the pace, crushing Cas hard against the wall and pounding in again and again. Every now and then, Cas pulls his head forward and captures Dean’s lips, sliding his tongue in, assaulting Dean’s mouth with frantic, frenzied kisses. Dean writhes and whimpers with Cas and every one of his sense feels alive.

 

Cas’ thighs are squeezed tight around Dean’s waist, back arched in a way that has their hips perfectly lined up. Cas has just enough leverage to push up to meet Dean’s thrusts. There’s a perfect symbiosis to it that has them both on edge in the best possible way. Every deep, wild kiss makes it that much better. Every time they have sex – and they have sex a _lot_ – Dean feels this crazy-scary-awesome level of connection that makes every round explosive. He thinks he’d be perfectly content to die fucking Cas. __

Between the incomplete blowjob and the friction, Cas looks so hard it probably _hurts_. Dean’s extremely annoyed by the fact that he needs both arms to support Cas, otherwise he’d be jerking him off like a pro. Cas has his hands clamped to Dean’s shoulders for support, too, and Dean’s vexed. He wants to see the blissed-out look in Cas’ eyes when he comes.

 

Cas catches Dean staring at his dick, and he leans forward, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

 

“Don’t worry, Dean. I intend to come just from looking at you, feeling you inside me. You don’t have to touch me.”

 

“Christ, Cas,” Dean rasps, because holy shit if that isn’t friggin hot.

 

Dean can feel release rapidly pooling in his lower stomach, making his thrusts erratic and shaky. Cas tightens his legs’ grip on Dean’s waist and keeps the pace up with his own thrusts, maintaining their fast, intense pace until the very end. Dean comes with a cry of Cas’ name, shuddering with his whole body and letting his forehead fall forward onto Cas’ shoulder. It only takes a moment for Cas to follow after, back arching into his orgasm.

 

They sink to the floor in a heap with Dean sitting on Cas’ lap, straddling him. He kisses him again, short and chaste and in quick succession. It’s like he can’t get enough of Cas’ sweet, familiar taste. These kisses are tiny thank yous – and not just for the sex. For everything.

 

“Cas,” Dean says when their kisses finally ebb out, “we need a shower.”

 

Cas glances briefly at their forgotten cups of tea and coffee on the table, and Dean snorts. “Have your tea, Sunshine. I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

 

“Or,” Cas says thoughtfully, idly tracing Dean’s chest with a finger, “we could both take a shower.”

 

“That works.”

 

“And while we’re in there I could return your favor from before,” Cas goes on, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean raises both eyebrows.

 

“Dude, I think you seriously overestimate both of our recovery times. I’m literally about to pass out, and you’re suggesting shower sex.”

 

“Hmm,” is all Cas says. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, “A bath, then.”

 

Dean grins.

 

“I’m totally game for a bubble bath.”

 

Cas smiles in that small, soft way of his.

 

“I suppose we’ve certainly earned it after all the work we’ve done this holiday.”

 

“Yeah, dude. I think you misunderstood – the ‘labor’ part in Labor Day means you do _no work_. Not that I’m complaining.”

 

“I enjoy doing work with you, Dean.”

 

Dean laughs.

 

“Right back at you, Sunshine.”

 

 


End file.
